


School of War

by Siff



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, I should probably be sorry, Prank Wars, but im not, school fic, silly fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siff/pseuds/Siff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another year at school, only this one brings a prank war with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	School of War

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the war my house had with the football house at school. Most of the pranks are something we did, while a one or two are kindly borrowed from my dad and my brother. They had some wicked prank wars.
> 
> Anyway, this story is short, fast-paced and probably wildly out of character. Enjoy!

The first day of their second year at the school and they nearly started a fight.

Like always, Rochefort saw it as his duty to overlook potential recruits to his dorm and maybe even football team. They watched with amusement as he talked his way into the brains of the innocent, rich boys that arrived for their first year at the school.

Apparently one boy didn’t like the attention and tried to get away. From where they leaned against the opposite wall, they clearly saw how Rochefort’s winning smile turned upside down and he grabbed the boy by the arm. Porthos was across the room before the others had even taken a step.

“Leave him alone, Rochefort.” Porthos growled and stepped between their nemesis and the new kid. Aramis and Athos were quick to flank him, ready to interfere. The boy sensed something was up and his behind them.

“Rochefort,” said Aramis politely, “Harassing a newbie, are we?”

“Please mind your own business,” Rochefort sighed, “I neither have the time or the patience to deal with you.”

“No one is keeping you here,” said Athos “Feel free to leave.”

“The school.” Said Porthos and looked over his shoulder at the younger boy, “You okay?”

The boy nodded, looking between them curiously. He didn’t have that frightened, shy look about him that most first years had. Athos studied him carefully and thought he actually seemed like he enjoyed himself.

“Fine, thank you. I’m d'Artagnan.” Said the boy and smiled at them. “He was just offering me a place to sleep in the red dorm.” He pointed at Rochefort.

“Ah, you don’t want to sleep there,” said Aramis, “The football team lives there. So many dirty socks, am I right, Rochefort?”

Athos turned to the boy, “May I see your papers?” he asked gently. D'Artagnan handed over his papers and Athos looked them over.

“Dorm blue.” He said and looked at Rochefort, “No need to go to red at all.”

“Oh, believe me,” d'Artagnan said, “I had no intention to.”

Rochefort’s nostrils flared slightly.

“Boy is too clever for you.” smiled Porthos. “Why don’t you find some other kid with a rich dad to brainwash instead.”

“Very well,” said Rochefort, suddenly smiling friendly at them. “And let’s not argue today. It’s a new year after all. Though I must admit, I had hoped the less fortunate would have stayed away this year. It’s not a school for charity-cases.” drawled Rochefort and looked meaningfully at Aramis, the only one amongst them who wouldn’t inherit a title.

“Watch your mouth.” Said Porthos and puffed his chest up slightly. Rochefort’s friends shrank back but Rochefort himself didn’t budge. He shook his head and then looked at d'Artagnan.

“You don’t have a name, d'Artagnan, remember to befriend those who have. _Real_ names, that is.” he gave Athos a dark look which he answered coldly. To everyone’s surprise d'Artagnan smiled brightly and slapped Rochefort on the shoulder.

“Thank you so much.” He said and turned to them, “Can you show me the way to the dorm?”

Porthos snickered. Aramis looked impressed and wrapped an arm around d'Artagnan’s shoulder, leading him towards the diner hall. Porthos followed, making sure to bump into Rochefort as he did.

Safely away from Rochefort, they explained to d'Artagnan what had just happened. Their rivalry with Rochefort had long since been transferred over to a displeasure between the red and blue dorm, alongside the football- and fencing team that lived in each of them.

They didn’t look back as they walked inside, but Athos could feel Rochefort’s eyes on them the entire time.

And that pretty much started it all. Rochefort hated them, always had. D'Artagnan liked them, very much actually, and they enjoyed his company. For Rochefort it had probably been a no brainer.

He targeted d'Artagnan.

It happened about a week after the fight when d'Artagnan didn’t show up for breakfast. It was weird but could mean anything. Tracked down his room-mate who told them d'Artagnan had left for breakfast before him. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t there.

They didn’t panic over that. But when they hadn’t found him by lunch, they got worried. They checked the school nurse and all the toilets, but no sign of him.

And then Rochefort walked past them, looking way too pleased with himself.

They hurried to the d'Artagnan’s floor of the dorm and searched every room. They eventually found him in a broom closet.

Rochefort had jumped him and stuffed him inside on his way to breakfast. D'Artagnan was pale and shaking when they got him out, clinging to Athos like a lifeline. Hungry and tired, and in serious need of a bathroom, d'Artagnan told them everything.

They only needed to share a look to know they all thought the same. They wanted revenge.

“What should we do?” Aramis asked and helped d'Artagnan back to his room. Athos thought about it carefully.

“Leave it to me.”

The following morning at breakfast, Rochefort marched into the dining hall, dripping wet and only wearing a towel around his waist. He had a look of pure murder on his face, which would have been terrifying, if it wasn’t for the bright purple color his hair now had.

He searched the hall and ignored the colored water dripping from his hair and down his chest. He finally spotted them at their usual table. “You did this!” He yelled and pointed at his hair. In his other hand he had a shampoo-bottle with small purple bubbles bobbling out of it.

By now, the initial shock in the dining hall had subsided, and the laughter was deafening. The sight of a wet, nearly naked Rochefort with purple hair cracked everyone up; even his own dorm-mates had trouble keeping the grin off.

At their own table, Porthos was grinning louder than anyone, his deep voice booming in the hall. Aramis and d'Artagnan were practically lying over their table. Athos merely leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk on his face.

Furious, Rochefort glared around the hall at the other students, but it did nothing to still the laughter. A few camera-phones had even come out, and the flashed came from everywhere. When his snarling face did nothing to help, Rochefort instead walked over to their table and threw the shampoo-bottle into a bowl with cornflakes, spraying milk all over the table and Athos and Aramis.

“You did this!” he snarled, eyes darting from one to the other, Athos lifted an eyebrow and brushed soaked cornflakes off his sweater. He pursed his lips and shrugged slightly.

“You can’t prove it.” he said. Porthos smacked him hard in the back and laughed louder than before.

If looks could kill, they would all be smoldering piles of ashes. Rochefort narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at Athos. “You don’t know what you have started.” He hissed.

“Give it your best shot, Roche.” Aramis said and slung an arm over d'Artagnan shoulder. He grinned happily at the purple color. Rochefort turned his eyes on him.

“I will.” He said and marched off. Despite being nearly naked, and purple, Rochefort managed to leave the hall with a straight back and head held high. The laughter followed him out.

High on their success, they went to class. The story of the purple-haired Rochefort quickly became the story of the day, and before lunch, the whole school knew about it. It had been retold quite a few times, and Porthos had walked past a few girls who swore to heaven that Rochefort had been naked.

The glory lasted all week, since it took several days before the color got washed out. The pictures on Facebook, however, lasted all year long.

Rochefort was furious. He walked around like a caged tiger, snarling at anyone who dared to look funnily at him, which happened to be everyone since the whole school knew what had happened. It only added to their pleasure that the football team had to play an important game, and Rochefort was kept off the field, since purple hair wasn’t considered appropriate.

It was the greatest week since the freezer broke down and everyone got free ice-cream.

It only took two days with a purple Rochefort before d'Artagnan got his confidence back. He was still a little jumpy and refused to go near the broom closet, but he smiled again and no longer looked like a lost little boy. For that, it was worth it. But Athos was still watchful.

He wasn’t so naïve that he thought that would be it. Rochefort was going to pull something, anything. It was just a matter of time.

Porthos was on cloud nine a long time after that. His mood had never been better and he often chuckled as he sat for himself or read in one of his text books. Aramis was mostly complaining that he couldn’t harvest the fame and glory their prank had earned them, since no one besides them knew for sure who had done it. They had considered stepping forward but the teachers didn’t take well to pranks.

And as predicted, Rochefort struck back.

It was late November when it happened, and while it was doubtful Athos had been the specific target, it still ended up being him who got the brunt of it.

Athos liked to run in the morning. That fact that the weather had gotten freezing cold, leaving frost and mist in the air every morning and far into day didn’t matter, and he still got out of bed before dawn.

He ran his usual route around the school ground; enjoying the ice-covered grass crunch beneath his feet. When he returned, cold and with a wonderfully clear head, he took off his running clothes in his room and gathered his things, venturing to the bathroom.

On the way he thought the dorm was colder than usual but it was early winter and the snow would fall soon anyway. Thinking mostly about the day’s homework, he didn’t pay attention as he walked into the bathroom and fell flat on his ass.

His feet were pulled from beneath him and he landed hard, and slid across the floor with quite some speed, slamming stomach first into one of the plastic walls separating the showers. All air was knocked out of him and he wrapped his arm around his stomach.

He lay there gasping and finally saw what the hell was going on. The narrow windows beneath the ceiling were wide open, letting in cold air. Towels had been stuffed down the drains of every shower, and someone had filled the bathroom with water that now had frozen into two inches of solid and very slippery ice.

It didn’t take much thinking to figure out who had done it. Rochefort.

Cursing, Athos tried to get up. His stomach hurt like hell and his already cold body was freezing as his bare feet slipped on the ice. He grabbed for one of the small shelves holding soap, trying to keep himself from falling. He failed and ended up smacking his face hard against the ice.

He yelled in pain and curled up, cursing Rochefort to every hell possible. Thankfully, his cries where heard, and it only took a few minutes before Porthos, Aramis and half their dorm stood in the door and gaped open-mouthed at him.

“Ice on the floor.” Athos managed to choke out as a warning.

Almost their whole dorm ended up being late for breakfast. Aramis had to crawl on all four to get to Athos without falling, and helped him get out. The rest of the dorm helped out by turning on the showers as hot as possible so they could melt the ice and get the towels out of the drains.

Porthos was pissed off. He raged as Aramis carefully propped Athos ribs, which were beginning to bruise extremely darkly on his pale skin. Half his face also ended up with a dark shade of blue after he had kissed the ice. He refused to go to the nurse, nothing was broken after all. It still hurt like hell.

“He’s not getting away with this,” Porthos growled after Aramis helped Athos get dressed in his uniform, and they sat down at the breakfast table. Athos had to settle for yogurt since chewing hurt. “You could have broken your neck.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Athos warned and winced. Talking hurt too. “I don’t want to give him anything he can use against us.” Porthos grumbled and ate his eggs, and he and Aramis glared at Rochefort when he walked past their table.

He and his friends stopped before them, and Rochefort grinned wickedly, his hair once again painfully blond. “Ran into a door, did we, de la Fère?” he drawled and his friends snickered.

“Fuck off, Rockefort.” Porthos growled and Aramis laid a hand on his arm in warning.

“The rest of you should be careful too,” Rochefort said, “Never know what will happen if you don’t watch where you step.” He left them, laughing loudly. Half the hall turned and looked curiously their way but they ignored it.

They ate quickly and met up with d'Artagnan before their first class. He looked horrified as he saw the bruising.

“What happened?” he demanded, gently brushing Athos hair aside to see the damage for himself.

“Rochefort.” said Aramis. He watched over Athos like a hawk so didn’t exhaust himself. “Don’t worry; we’ll get him for this.”

D'Artagnan blinked a few times before smiling, “I’ve got an idea.”

…

It was almost too easy to break into Rochefort’s room. Aramis and d'Artagnan kept watch as Porthos picked the lock. They were careful not to ask him about that particular skill, and instead awed as the lock clicked after only thirteen seconds.

They sneaked in, armed with the largest tin of pepper they could find in the kitchen, and dumped the stuff into all of Rochefort’s clothes. They made sure he wouldn’t be able to even shake a sweater without spreading it everywhere.

They finished their job and sneaked out and back to their own dorm. By then, rumors about Athos accident had reached Treville, their dorm-master, and after trying to get the truth from Athos – didn’t happened, much to his frustration –  he ordered him to go to the nurse. The others returned to Porthos’ and Athos’ room where they sat giggling like children and waited.

Their prank was perfect, maybe a little too much. It happened that all the rooms in the dorm were connected by the air vents, and when Rochefort activated the pepper-hell in his room, it spread to the entire dormitory. The whole football-team ended sneezing for days. The teachers thought influenza had hit the school and the football team had to sit out of a game. The second one for Rochefort.

Richelieu, Rochefort’s dorm-master, was furious and didn’t hesitate to blame them. He didn’t have proof and Treville defended them viciously. Of course Treville was no idiot and knew, or at the very least suspected what was going on. He warned them to stop whatever was going on, and they promised to behave. They had gotten their revenge after all.

But Rochefort held a grudge like nobody else and didn’t promise anything to anyone.

And that’s how the war began.

 …

Rochefort’s counterattack came at the beginning of December.

Athos hadn’t been out running that morning, battling a beginning cold and therefore got out of bed much later than usually. Thanks to that he got caught too.

He and Porthos awoke and gathered their stuff, ready to head for the showers, when they ran into a little problem. Their door wouldn’t open. It was unlocked, and no matter how much they pulled, it was as if welded in place. Even Porthos, who was stronger than most, couldn’t even move it an inch.

It was about then that the texts messages began tickling in. Most were from Aramis, but many from their dorm were texting them as well. They all said the same. No one could get out of their room.

They knew they had been had somehow, and called d'Artagnan to their aid before any of the teachers knew what was happening.

Now the dorms were build so a hall had six rooms, three on each side. The doors on each side where directly opposite each other and all opened up into the rooms. Rochefort and his goons had snuck in and placed duct tape between the handles facing each other. They had done is so none of the doors could open, and the entire dorm was trapped inside their rooms.

D'Artagnan saved them. He cut off the duct tape and got them out just in time for class. They all missed breakfast, and it didn’t help that Rochefort had also stolen their bathroom doors.

The dorms knew a strife was going on, though they might not know about the entire thing. The pepper had won Rochefort a good few followers, but stealing the bathroom doors had won them their entire dorm. Especially the girls.

Suddenly they were pulled aside on their way to class or texted ideas for revenge. They even returned to their room to find dozens of paper-slips with suggestions having been pushed under their door.

By now the teachers knew what was going on. Not the details, but like their dorm-mates, they had a pretty good idea who was involved. They couldn’t prove anything and despite Richelieu’s best effort, none of them were punished. That also meant Rochefort walked free. 

They eventually found the bathrooms doors. After a few very awkward days, they were finally reattached after having been found in the library.

The headmaster – a small, grey man with large glasses – gave a speech a few days later at breakfast, making it clear that pranks and bullying would not be tolerated, and who-ever did it would be expelled on the spot.

“A little harsh, don’t you think?” whispered d'Artagnan as the headmaster continued his speech, urging the student to instead focus on their studies.

“I know who I want to throw out.” grumbled Porthos who was glaring towards Rochefort’s table. The other boy and his friends were looking back at them, all smiling like they had already won the war.

“We’ll get him.” said Aramis and sipped his orange juice.

“Better be good this time,” said d'Artagnan and laid his chin in his hand, elbow resting on the table. “I promised Constance we would come up with something good.”

And just like hat, the headmaster couldn’t interest them less. They all looked at d'Artagnan who turned tomato-red when he realized what he’d just said.

“Constance, as in _the_ Constance?” grinned Aramis.

“Girlfriend of Boring Bonacieux?” Porthos continued, flashing his teeth like the Cheshire cat. “Well, what do you know?”

 _Boring_ was the name most of then used about Bonnard Bonacieux, a third year with a personality dryer than the Sahara dessert. How he had ever managed to get a girl like Constance, whose spirit was like a roaring fire, no one knew but they had been together since Constance’s first year.

Porthos and Aramis shared a look that promised days with endless teasing for d'Artagnan who, in a last helpless attempt turned to Athos.

“Oh, don’t involve me in this.” he said and gave the only support he could by patting d’Artagnan’s arm gently.

“So tell us, my young, innocent friend,” Aramis drawled and wrapped his arm around d'Artagnan’s neck, “Exactly what did you promise the beautiful Constance?”

D'Artagnan managed to blush even more.“Eh – It wasn’t that... I mean – it’s... damn.” He groaned and slammed his head unto the table.

…

Thanks to half the school being on their side, the ideas and possibilities were suddenly unlimited. Some was pathetic and Porthos discarded them instantly. Others were just a little too cruel, a there Athos drew the line. He was all in for a good war, but it had to be done with some kind of chivalry.

They decided to start out small.

With the pepper incident in clear mind, they searched and found a ventilations shaft they could get open. Aramis had rated the breakfast table and they stuffed several large pieces of cheese into the shaft and carefully closed the grate afterwards. With the heat turned on it only took a day before the entire red dorm smelled like something had died there.

It was brilliant. No one could figure out what smelled like that, and every student in the dorm had their room searched thoroughly by the staff. There were rumors that someone had slaughtered a pig and hidden the remains beneath their bed. It was almost funny how the teachers jumped to same conclusion as the students.

The headmaster was mad as hell. It was almost funny seeing the little mad with steam out of his ears. He once again held a speech and warned the student, but by now, no one was listening. Red was planning something, and Blue was preparing.

Rochefort looked ready to commit murder. After all, they had struck him once again where it really hurt. His vanity. He stank. Every student from Red had the smell clinging to their clothes and just couldn’t get rid of it.

When the cheese-prank had reached it heights, it was time for Christmas vacation.

It was with dulled spirit that Athos packed his things. Christmas wasn’t exactly his favorite holiday, and he war with Rochefort hadn’t left him with the usual time he needed to prepare himself mentally to face his family.

Porthos was ecstatic. Things with his father still weren’t great, and he had instead been invited to spend Christmas with Aramis. Athos and d'Artagnan had of course been invited as well, but Athos hadn’t been able to out of his family’s claws and d'Artagnan actually liked his family, so they had both declined.

The whole school was bustling with restless students just waiting to get home. The four of them spend as much time together as they could before they had to leave. The three did their best to lift Athos’ mood but it was a lost battle. He tried not to be too moody but it was hard.

When the day arrived and the many fine cars rolled in before the main building. Suitcases were loaded and the students said their goodbyes.

Aramis mother and three of his sisters had all come to collect him and Porthos. The youngest were four and latched onto Porthos after only five minutes and refused to let go. They all hugged and promised to call each other, and then they took off.

As d'Artagnan’s father came to get him, he turned to Athos with a hopeful smile.

“There’s room at my place, if you want.” He offered and Athos felt a surge of affection for the younger boy.

“No need. But thank you.” Athos said and smiled at him. D'Artagnan left with his father and Athos waited until the family’s driver finally rolled up before him.

He slipped into the backseat and greeted the old driver with a polite, “Good day, Grimaud.”

And was answered with a just as formal, “Good day, Sir.”

He leaned back in his seat and watched the school as they drove off.

…

Christmas flew past him surprisingly fast. While the day itself was as painful as ever, the days before and after were speeded along by the constant calls and text messages from his friends. They went out of their way to help him along and he couldn’t have been more grateful.

The happy return to school was dulled slightly by the increase in school work. Athos didn’t mind, he was smart and enjoyed helping out his friends.

The only thing it seemed to really effect was The War. Even Rochefort had to keep his grades up, and he was often seen in the library, studying late like everyone else.

It might have been very green to think so, but Athos had actually hoped that The War might have ended. Their last trick with the cheese would have been the perfect end, especially since the staff had managed to locate it during the break and get it out of the ventilation system. The red dorm once again smelled like old wood and dust, and too many teenagers crammed together.

Of course he should have known that Rochefort hadn’t given up. And this time he crossed a line.

The fencing team had trained all fall so they would be ready for the winter competitions, and their first was mid January. Three days before they had to met the other school, someone died their competition uniforms pink.

And not the “whoops-dropped-a-red-sock”-kind of pink. No, candy-pink, with everything that word held. It was clearly no accident.

Athos was called into Treville’s office. Other than being their dorm-master, he was also the trainer of the fencing team, and he was more pissed off than Athos had ever seen him.

He placed a ruined jacked before Athos who did his best not to shrink back from the older man.

“This,” said Treville, voice tight with the effort of controlling his anger, “ends now, you understand? I don’t care what started all this, but you put an end to it, or I’ll find myself a new captain of the team. Understood?”

Athos had nodded and left the office. Outside the others waited, possibly more pissed off than Treville.

“So what do we do now?” asked Aramis impatiently as they walked down the hall.

“Revenge, obviously.” snarled Porthos. He took the pink color as a personal offense.

“Maybe we should just drop it;” suggested d'Artagnan carefully, “Getting new uniforms won’t be cheap. Maybe it’s time to stop before someone gets hurt.”

Athos was about to agree with d'Artagnan when Aramis stopped their walk by grabbing d'Artagnan’s arm.

“No,” he said, “They crossed the line and we can’t overlook that. We get them back for this, and this time, so well they won’t dare to lift a finger again.”

“How?” asked Porthos. Aramis smiled at him.

“I think we might need Flea for this.”

…

And then came the day, after a night of feather-light snow, that the any student walking across the yard to the diner hall was greeted by the sight of the entire football-team’s boots hanging from the tallest three on the school ground.

Flea had been vital in their last prank. Porthos might be good at picking locks but Flea was the master. A tiny, pretty girl with a dangerous grin, fingers too long for anyone’s good, and always up for some rule-breaking. She had efficiently broken into red dorm and stolen all the football boots, and then with some help, crawled up into the tree and decorated it like was it still Christmas. 

It was actually quite well done, Athos was impressed. Flea studied art and had a good sense of it all. The football team did not agree.

Spread laughter and wondered talk filled the courtyard until raged yelling interrupted it all. The team, led by Rochefort, came marching out, all angrier than Athos had ever seen them before. Someone must have told them, for they walked straight over to the tree, pushing aside any student in their way. They gathered at the foot and looked up. The lowest hanging boot was still good four feet out of reach of the tallest of them.

This time Rochefort didn’t just point and snarl. He ran at them, fury in his eyes and had to be held back by his friends.

He trashed in their grip and they all took a step backwards.

“This time you crossed the line.” He yelled, uncaring about anything, even their audience. “Do you have any idea of how much those cost?”

“As much as our uniforms!” Aramis yelled back. Rochefort friends lost their hold and he sprinted forward. The only thing stopping him from jumping Aramis was Porthos and Athos. They stepped in before him and separated them like a wall.

“The teachers will be here any minute.” said Porthos, “If you start a fight it will just mean trouble. For all of us.” He glared at Rochefort.

“Class will start soon,” said Athos, “And you should get your boots down before the snow ruins them.” Rochefort stepped back.

“Watch your backs,” he snarled and pointed at him. “I’ll get you for this, hare-lip.”

Athos had always prided himself for being able to keep his head cool. But they all had that one thing that ticked them off. So the next thing he knew, Aramis and Porthos was pulling him away from Rochefort, who was lying in the snow with a bloody nose. He might have been yelling but all he heard was the blood rushing in his ears.

He had no idea how he got away from Rochefort and into his room. All he knew was that Porthos and Aramis were with him, a constant presence that helped him back to himself. D'Artagnan was running around like a chicken without head, not used to see Athos loose it like that. He made a mental note to apologize to the other boy later.

Much later it turned out, as he was called into the headmaster’s office barely an hour later. Aside from the headmaster himself, Treville and Richelieu were there too. He was sat down and ordered to explain himself, both about the fight and the pranks.

He refused of course. He wasn’t going to rat anyone out. Richelieu and Treville then began to argue furiously, and the poor, old headmaster just looked back and forth between them, sitting helplessly in his chair.

He was probably in the office for about fifteen minutes when a teacher banged inside, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Call an ambulance. A student fell through the ice.”

He was forgotten in the panic that followed. The headmaster squeaked like a mouse and Treville had to take action. Athos was about to sneak out of the door when Richelieu asked the teacher which student he talked about.

“Aramis d'Herblay.” The teacher said and Athos thought his world would fall. Porthos appeared as if by magic by his side and pulled him down the hall. He looked pale and his hands shook and gripped his sleeve tightly.

“Let’s find him.” Athos said, not sure if Porthos heard him. They just hurried down the hall.

…

“I’ll kill him for this.” Porthos raged when door to the headmasters closed behind Athos. They had accompanied him all the way but hadn’t been allowed to join their friend inside.

“They’re not going to expel him, are they?” d'Artagnan asked and eyed the door with concern. Aramis shook his head.

“Athos’ dad is one of the richest men in England. The school would lose a very important benefactor if they throw his son out.”

“That bastard is at least good for one thing.” Porthos grumbled and Aramis shot him a warning glance.

“Porthos...”

“I know, I know.” Porthos sighed and slumped against the wall. D'Artagnan looked at his wrist watch.

“Class has already started. Should we wait?”

“No I think we better go,” Aramis said but d'Artagnan looked uncertain.

“I’ll wait here,” offered Porthos, “You guys go.”

After making Porthos promise to texts them should anything happened, they went to class. D'Artagnan was still concerned and Aramis continued to tell him not to worry. The entire de la Fère family had attended this school. They were the oldest names who have walked the hall, aside from Rochefort, and there was no way Athos would get in trouble.

Detention probably, but not thrown out.

He and d'Artagnan parted ways and went to each their class. Aramis had to cross the yard to get to the right classroom, and stopped for a second to watch the football team climb the tree in order to get their boots down.

By the foot of the tree stood Richelieu, barking out orders to a terrified boy hanging on to the latter someone had brought out.

“Hope you’re enjoying the show,” Rochefort said, suddenly appearing behind him and making Aramis jump a foot in the air. He turned around and tried to look like Rochefort hadn’t just gotten him good.

“And what do you mean by that?”

Rochefort crossed his arm and smiled and sleazy and nasty, his nose was still red after Athos well-aimed punch. “I only meant that _that_ ,” he pointed at the tree, “Was crossing the line. I’ll get you for this.” And with those words he marched off, across the yard and away from the school. Aramis took after him.

Saying hell to class, he wrapped his scarf around his neck and ran after Rochefort. He quickly caught up to him and fell into step. Rochefort glared at him but didn’t stop walking. “What do you want?”

The wind bit a little more as soon as they left the school buildings and Aramis almost regretted this. “I think we should talk.” He said, “Maybe it’s time we stop all this.”

Rochefort chuckled, “Afraid of losing?”

Aramis frowned, “No, I’m afraid someone will get hurt. Again.” he added. Rochefort hadn’t managed to wash off all the blood from his nose. “Or thrown out of school. We need to stop now.”

“You’re pathetic if you think I’ll just give up.”

Aramis huffed in frustration, “This has nothing to do with giving up, or loosing. It’s about stopping before it gets out of hand. Treville is pissed off about the uniforms, and I think Richelieu is ready to skin us alive for the boots-ting.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“Yeah, I get that.” snapped Aramis. By now they had walked across the sports field. The snow was deeper out here and he his shoes was already soaked and cold. “So what do you say? Truce?”

Rochefort stopped and looked at him carefully. It was like he searching for any hint of a lie and Aramis carefully kept his face as honest as possible. He hadn’t been lying. They really needed to stop. Athos might not be thrown out of school, but their pranks could still go in a very bad direction.

“No.” he finally said. “I’m not going to trust you only to get stabbed in the back later. Forget it.” he turned to leave and Aramis grabbed for him.

“Come on, Roche-“

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Rochefort snarled and pulled his arm back. Then he shoved Aramis hard so he stumbled back. His shoes slipped on the snow but he managed to stay on his feet.

He looked up and saw the horrified expression on Rochefort’s face but didn’t understand. Then he heard the crack. It sounded like a gun being fired and the ground vanished from beneath his feet. Aramis’ startled scream was cut shot as he sank into the ice-cold water.

He really regretted that he never learned how to swim.

…

When Athos and Porthos finally reached the yard, it was filled with student and teachers, and an ambulance with lights flashing. He just got a glimpse of someone strapped to a stretcher before the door slammed close. The ambulance drove off, spraying snow all over the gathered crowd, and Porthos pushed through, making way for them easily.

Athos followed close behind, heart beating in his throat and finally spotted d'Artagnan standing next to Constance. They hurried over and he told them everything. Aramis had fallen through the ice down by the lake and Rochefort had saved him.

“What?” said Athos, not believing what he heard. Constance nodded, arms wrapped around her middle to keep warm.

“It’s true,” she said, “He jumped in and fished him out. They’re both going to the hospital.”

“Maybe he pushed him in,” suggested Porthos, face strangely blank, “Aramis can’t swim.”

“A teacher saw it all happened. It was an accident.” said Constance.

Athos reached out and grabbed Porthos’ sleeve, clenching the fabric between his fingers.

“And Rochefort saved him. He didn’t even hesitate. Jumped right in.” said d'Artagnan. He looked pale.

“We have to go to him.” Said Porthos and looked around, probably searching for Treville, “And we need to call his mom.”

“The teachers will handle that,” said Athos and searched for their dorm-master as well, “Let’s just focus on getting to the hospital.”

They tracked down Treville in his office, talking on the phone with someone who could only be Aramis’ mother. He looked up as they barged into the office but stopped all their questions with a raised finger. He carefully told Mrs. d'Herblay what had happened and after telling her which hospital Aramis had been sent to, he hung up and turned to them.

“I know what you want, and I know you’ll just go anyway if I say no. So,” Treville grabbed his coat, “I’ll drive.”

 …

He carefully opened the door and peeked inside. Rochefort was sitting on the bed, wrapped in blankets. A stack of what could only be fresh, dry clothes was lying on the chair beside the bed.

His hair was dry, and without the unnatural amount of hair gel he always spotted, it looked fuzzy and curled on his head. He was watching the television and didn’t notice Athos at first. It wasn’t until Athos stepped inside and closed the door behind him that he finally did.

Rochefort managed to send him an impression glare at him, despite having to sneeze and by that jerked violently. Athos suppressed a smile and walked to the bed, careful to keep his distance. Not that he thought Rochefort would do anything; no, it was for the other boy’s sake.

There was no reason for waiting, so Athos took a deep breath and said, “Thank you for saving Aramis.”

Rochefort narrowed his eyes slightly, but then nodded, accepting it. Athos breathed out in relief. Feeling he had said what was needed, he turned to leave when Rochefort spoke.

“Don’t mention it. Ever. Understood?”

Athos looked over his shoulder, meeting Rochefort’s eyes. Athos thought he looked very tired.

“Only if we stop,” he said, “with the pranks. We stop so no one else gets hurt.”

Now Rochefort didn’t hesitate. “Deal.” He said and pulled the blankets higher over his shoulders.

Athos gave him a grateful smile. “See you at school then.” He said and left. He returned to Aramis’ room, where Porthos and d'Artagnan were laughing loudly at something Aramis had said. He joined his friends who finished laughing and then asked where he had been.

“Making peace with the devil.” He said. He had suspected some reluctance, but to his pleasant surprise, they all looked relieved.

“Thank God.” Breathed Aramis and leaned back against the pillows propped up behind him. D'Artagnan nodded eagerly.

“It had gotten out of hand, anyway. Wasn’t much fun anymore.”

“Hadn’t gone wild just yet,” said Porthos, “But would have, I’m sure. Good thing you did. What you both did.” He said and looked at Athos and Aramis.

Aramis looked down, “My attempt didn’t help much. Nearly drowned us both.” Athos gently took his hand, squeezing it. Aramis’ skin was no longer ice-cold,

“I think it was just the chock Rochefort needed.” What they all needed and hopefully would never need again. To give up their little war was a smallest of prices, if it could prevent anything like this from happening again.

“Well, we can hope it will last.” Said d'Artagnan and laid his head on his folded hands.

“And why shouldn’t it?”

D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow at him. “You seriously think Rochefort _or_ us can keep from teasing each other, for I don’t.”

“He’s got a point.” Smiled Porthos and ruffled d'Artagnan’s hair. Aramis looked at Athos who smiled and shrugged.

“We’ll wait until summer at least. And there’s always next year."

**Author's Note:**

> I have about seventeen different stories going on right now, and this one has been nagging me for weeks. It wants to be longer but I just don’t have the time. So, short and very to the point. 
> 
> Also, while this is based on own battles, I never threw football boots into a tree. The teachers caught us before we could do it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
